


Little Brother

by Hanna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean has demon blood, Dean is the younger son, Gen, Role Reversal, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna/pseuds/Hanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Do not go through my stuff again.”</i>
  <br/><i>“Why not? Because you’re afraid I’ll find this?” Dean brandished a journal at him and Sam froze.</i>
  <br/><i>“Did you read it?” he asked.</i>
  <br/><i>“I’m not stupid,” Dean said, and there was a bitter undercurrent to the words. “No matter what you and Dad seem to think. I read it.”</i>
  <br/><i>Sam sat heavily.</i>
  <br/><i>“Why don’t you want me to know? Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t you tell me it’s my fault Mum died?”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>AU in which Dean is the kid brother with the demon blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't one cohesive story but a series of snippets of their lives, all different ages. Spoilers for up to season 6; haven't watched further. If you can take the time to give me feedback I would be very grateful.

“Dean!” Sam shouted as Dean turned his back with the full intention of storming out the room. “Dean! Don’t be an idiot!”

Dean spun around, snarled at him as he strode over and grabbed Sam’s collar.

“An idiot, am I?” he asked, spitting rage.

“Yes!” Sam said. “Yes, you are! You’re going to take this thing on alone-”

“I don’t need you, Sam! Don’t you dare follow me.” Dean shoved him back and turned again and Sam was too angry to care that this was his little brother. He ran after him and grabbed his shirt, spinning him around and holding him against the wall.

Dean glared at him, spat at him, and he slammed him into the wall when he struggled against his hold.

“Let me go, Sam!” Dean snarled. “Let me go!” Sam stared into his enraged eyes and dropped his fist, turning away coldly.

“Fine. See how long you last without me,” he said. Dean froze, mouth half open, for a very long moment.

“Sam…”

“You want to go alone so badly? Go!” Dean’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes hardened.

“Fine.”

Sam heard the door shut and tried very hard to convince himself that he did not care.

XX

Dean took Sam’s car.

He had lifted the keys from Sam in their fight; their father had given them to Sam, and he had refused to give them up when he left the life, when he left them for a normal, boring life, for _school_. He had never even liked the car, but when he left he took it, with their father’s blessing. Not that, as he’d shouted, he’d have left it if he had protested. He had dumped everything out, messed up the hunting kits, and slammed the boot.

Dean had shouted at him for that. Had screamed and sworn and shouted until he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder as Sam pulled away. He turned to glare at his father, but as always, John Winchester’s steady gaze froze him in his tracks and he sullenly pulled away from him, stomped to collect and repack the boxes Sam had let fall open.

“Dean,” John said. He ignored him. “Dean.” Resentfully he looked up, met his eyes.

“What?” he asked. “He took the car, Dad! That’s all we have! That and a shitty motel room and-”

“Dean,” he said again. “It’s his choice.”

_And if I chose to leave?_ Dean thought, bitterly, as he almost threw a knife back into its place. _What would you say if I told you I hated this job, Dad?_

He said nothing, just shut the case and took it into the motel room. He slid it under his bed and threw himself onto the hard mattress, ignoring John when he came in. John said nothing; he did not invite conversation.

“I only wanted what was best for you boys,” John said quietly later that night. “I only ever wanted what was best for you.”

Dean did not reply and yanked the blanket over himself.

When he’d gone to get Sam in the shitty car they’d bought to replace the Impala, to tell him Dad was missing, he needed his help, he saw her in the driveway beside a shiny new car. He ran over to her and ran his hands over her, coming up with a layer of dust. He stared up at the house.

“Sam you bastard,” he hissed under his breath as he went to the door. “You should have taken care of her!”

When Sam turned up at his motel in the Impala after the job, grim faced, he just crossed his arms over his chest.

“I thought you were out,” he said.

“It took Jessica,” Sam said. Dean held his hand out.

“I’m driving,” he said. Sam gave him a hard stare and he set his jaw before relenting and climbing into the passengers seat, ever the little brother. It took Sam three turns to rev the car

up. Dean glared at him.

“What?” Sam snapped after a moment.

“You neglected her,” Dean said accusingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I- Dean, it’s just a car!” Sam refused to speak for the rest of the drive.

Now, as Dean drove the Impala to the warehouse where the demon had made its home, he stroked her dash. He was furious with Sam, but he could never take it out on the old girl, who was as much Dean’s as Sam’s. Who was their father’s.

His jaw tightened.

Their father was dead and Sam could go fuck himself..

This was his car now.

He pushed the pedal down harder.

XX

“Dean!” Sam shouted as he ran into the warehouse. Dean spun around, snarled uncontrollably.

“Get out,” he snapped. “I don’t-” the demon backhanded him while he was distracted and he flew into a wall with a grunt.

Sam leapt into action, firing rapidly at the demon. It fell to the ground and spewed out the black dust that was demonic essence. Uncaring for the host coughing up blood, Sam ran to Dean’s side. Dean slapped his hand away when he tried to help him up.

“I don’t need your help!” he snarled. “I told you!”

“Dean, shut up!” Sam said.

Dean did.

“Give me the keys.” Dean stubbornly shook his head. “Give me the keys!”

“No,” Dean snapped, his hand fisted in his pocket. “I’m driving!”

“I’m driving, Dean. Give me the keys. Now.” There was a long, tense second where they faced off, eyes meeting. Then Dean sucked in a deep breath through his nose and tossed them at Sam.

“Fine,” he said, sullenly. “Try not to get us lost.” Sam’s glare was lost on him, as he’d stormed off towards the Impala.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Get in,” he said. Dean slouched in the passenger’s seat, scowling. “Honestly, Dean, you’re such a child.” Dean’s head snapped up, indignantly.

“I am not a-” he spluttered. Sam cut him off with a pointed look as he started the car. It turned on easily. Despite himself, Dean smirked.

“Shut it,” Sam said.

“I’m not a kid, Sam!” Dean snapped. “You can’t order me around!” He turned away, stared out the window, his reflection scowling at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes.

“You let Dad order you around,” he said. Dean froze. His mouth opened then closed again and he did not reply, rigid and tense. “I went to hell for you, Dean! I’ve earned a little respect! Even if you never gave it to me as a kid-”

“You are not my father!” Dean snapped. “And you don’t get to\ boss me around.”

“I went to hell for you,” Sam repeated, lowly. Dean snorted bitterly.

“Funny how that always comes up when we fight,” he said acerbically.

“Then you should be used to hearing it.” Dean flinched but set his jaw, refusing to let Sam win.

“Funny,” he muttered.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable.

“You needed my help,” Sam said out of the blue. Dean’s anger flared up, bright and sharp.

“I did not!” he snapped. “I had it under control!” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I did! I don’t need you to save me, Sam! I can take care of myself!”

“You couldn’t back there,” Sam said, and Dean recoiled. His mouth shut with a click and there was a long moment of silence.

Their father would have had no problem fighting that demon. Once again he felt the weight of their father’s memory and his brother’s protection crash down on him and sucked in a deep breath.

“You distracted me,” he said, more quietly than he meant to, with more feeling than he meant to. “I could have done it, Sam. I could have.” Anger was all good and well; fire and brimstone was what they were used to. But feelings? No. Hunters could not afford to show weakness.

It was a lesson he had learned as a child, and a lesson he had never forgotten.

Sam’s silent disapproval made him feel like he was a child again, being dragged around behind his big brother and his father from motel to motel. He hunched over and rested his forehead against the window.

“I could have,” he repeated.

Sam did not reply.

XX

They were in another shitty hotel in another shitty town. Dean lay back on the bed with a groan. They’d been travelling for what felt like hours, though Sam would probably disagree on that point. He always was a smartass.

“Sammy, lets get some dinner,” Dean said, propping himself up on his elbows. Somewhere between fuming and music they’d let go of their fight, like they always did. It would come up again he knew, but for now they were at peace.

“No,” Sam said, scrolling on his laptop, intense concentration in his eyes.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean wheedled. “Lets just grab some takeout.” Sam didn’t even look at him.

“No,” he said again.

“Sammy…”

“Dean, I said no,” Sam snapped, turning around. “We’re here on a job and we’ll very well do it.” Dean recoiled.

“Talk about a change of tune,” he said. “Wasn’t it ‘I hate this life’ before? Isn’t that why you left?” Sam narrowed his eyes and a pit in the bottom of Dean’s stomach opened as it always did when he disappointed Sam.

“What don’t you understand about this, Dean?” he asked. “We have people to save, an apocalypse to avert-”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun!” Dean exclaimed. “C’mon, Sammy! Takeout. Just like old times.”

“Just like old times,” Sam repeated. Dean grinned.

“Yeah,” he said. “You and me and a crappy burger from a diner. What do ya say?” Sam almost smiled then.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not.” He closed his laptop and Dean grinned broadly as he got up. “Bitch,” he added.

“Jerk,” he returned, laughing as he left the room. Sam looked back at his laptop and the papers spread around it before following him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Be careful, Dean,” John said. Dean tossed off a light grin.

“You know me, Dad,” he said. John fixed him a steady look and his jaw tightened, feeling very inadequate all of a sudden. Normally he’d be standing beside Sam, or rather behind Sam, as John lectured Sam to take care of him. The weight of Sam’s absence hit him and he closed his eyes.

“I’ll be careful, Dad,” he said. John searched his face and he stood straighter, lifting his chin. John just nodded and left without a word and he deflated, his breath leaving him in a rush.

In that moment he knew that he had been weighed, measured and found wanting.

He sat on the bed and clenched his jaw. He would not be found wanting any longer. He would finally make his father proud of him.

He would make him proud of him if it was the last thing he did.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time he dreamed of the death of a stranger, Dean wrote it off as a nightmare. He’d seen lots of people killed, killed lots of vessels- this guy was probably just one of them. And he had always had nightmares, ever since he was a child. He never told anyone about them, but he knew Sam saw. More than once he’d woken up to find Sam staring at him, an oddly intense look in his eyes. As if his very life depended on what he was doing- which was staring at him.

“What are you doing?” he had snapped and turned away from him. Sam had said nothing, but he’d felt his eyes on him all night and could not get back to sleep.

And sure, it was unusually vivid, this dream, as if it was real and had not the usual blurry quality of his nightmares, but it was no less terrifying for that and Dean still woke with his heart thudding and his fists clenched. But he put it from his mind.

Then he dreamed it again the next night, and the night after, until finally he looked up the town to find any excuse to go there. He was sure he was crazy, but he’d followed up on less before.

And when they got there he saw the man, a complete stranger to him, as clear as day.

“Dean?” Sam asked. “Dean.” He jerked out of his stupor, shut his jaw and turned to Sam, unable to hide the wideness of his eyes, the paleness of his cheeks. He swallowed. “Who is he, Dean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “I don’t know.”

XX

The first time he moved something with his mind, he was terrified.

He saw the other kid do it, watched him holding the knife to his mother’s eye, and totally freaked out. He didn’t want him to hurt his mother, didn’t want anyone who could be spared to die, and this kid was going to kill a woman who did not deserve it.

He didn’t know what he did, but suddenly the knife was on the ground, his hand was in the air and everyone was staring at him.

He swallowed hard and lowered his hand, suddenly selfconscious.

He sought Sam’s gaze out and found that his brother, his big brother who had always taken care of him, was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. As if, for just an instant, he’d become one of the monsters they hunted.

He felt himself shaking, fisted his hands in his pocket, and then the kid grabbed the knife and charged on his mother and the moment was lost.

After he climbed into the passenger seat silently without his usual complaint, still quiet and pale, Sam looked over at him, half opened his mouth and then closed it.

Dean rested his forehead against the window, stared at his reflection and tried not to think he was one of the monsters he had always hunted, not to remember the look in Sam’s eyes.

That freak could have dropped the knife. It could have fallen on its own. Everything happened so fast, maybe he knocked it out the air accidentally when he turned to see them burst in, guns out.

It hadn’t anything to do with him. It couldn’t have. He wasn’t a freak. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be. Surely his father would have known. He hunted them, he had to know, he’d have told him-

He squeezed his eyes shut and his fists curled into his shirt, white knuckled. He pretended he wasn’t shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sam, what does Dad do?” Dean asked as he stared out the window. Sam, sitting on the couch, turned from the TV. “He’s always so busy.” Sam opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Is he like a secret agent or something? You say he’s doing important things, but what is so important he can’t be here? With us?” He pulled something from the window sill. “Why do you sleep with this under your pillow?”

Sam spun around to see his pistol. “Give that back,” he said.

“Not until you tell me why you sleep with it under your pillow.” Dean waved it around and Sam gritted his teeth.

“Put that down before you shoot one of us,” he snapped. Dean glared sullenly at him.

“You taught me how to shoot,” he said. “I can handle it.”

“Put it down!” Dean startled at the tone, automatically sitting it back on the sill. Sam strode over and grabbed it. “Do not go through my stuff again.”

“Why not? Because you’re afraid I’ll find this?” He brandished a journal at him and Sam froze.

“Did you read it?” he asked.

“I’m not stupid,” Dean said, and there was a bitter undercurrent to the words. “No matter what you and Dad seem to think. I read it.”

Sam sat heavily.

“Why don’t you want me to know? Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t you tell me it’s my fault Mum died?” Sam gaped at him.

“What?” he asked. “Dean, it’s not your fault!” Dean’s face hardened.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I read this. He’s hunting the thing that killed Mum, isn’t he?” Sam held his hand out for the journal and Dean handed it over. “Please tell me, Sam.”

He bit his lip. If Dad had said anything it was that he was never to tell Dean what he was asking.

“Sam, please.”

“Alright,” Sam said, patting the couch beside him. “But you can’t tell Dad I told you this, okay?” Dean sat beside him and nodded.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said impatiently. “We need to get to school.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest as he sat on the bed, scowling, looking anywhere but at Sam.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you want so badly to pretend that we’re normal? We’re going to be gone in a week.”

“If Dad comes back,” Sam muttered.

“He will!” Dean insisted, looking for the first time at him.

“He will, Sam!” Sam snorted bitterly, turned away and chucked Dean’s backpack at him. He instinctively ducked away and it hit the bed. His hands came up as fists before he could stop himself.

“Come on,” Sam said. “We’re going to school.”

Dean kicked the bag off the bed and threw himself back on it.

“I don’t want to go to school,” he said. “I hate school.”

Sam fixed him with a long look and he grabbed the bag, chucked it carelessly over his shoulder.

“Don’t get in trouble again,” Sam said, pushing him ahead of him and locking the motel behind them. “I mean it, Dean. Don’t fight this time.” Dean pulled away from him.

“Why? Why do you want so badly to be normal?” he snapped. “We aren’t normal, Sam. We-” Sam grabbed his arm and spun him around, forced him to face him.

“Don’t ever talk about that,” he snapped.

“It’s the truth of our life,” Dean retorted. “We hunt monsters, Sam. And we’re only in this town until Dad comes back and-” Sam gripped him tight, pulled him forward, his face in Dean’s.

“Dean. Shut. Up.” He shook him none-too-gently and Dean’s jaw set.

“Fine,” he said. “ _Mum_.”

Sam pinned him to the ground sharply.

“Never talk about her again,” he snapped. “You hear me? Never.” Dean’s eyes were wide as he stilled beneath his brother, biting his lip.

“Sam…” he said. “Sam, I…”

“Never,” Sam repeated, low and hard. Dean nodded, subdued, and cast his eyes away from Sam’s.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.” Sam stood and offered his hand; Dean climbed to his feet himself, brushing his shirt off. Sam paused, bit his lip.

“Sorry,” he said. Dean’s lips twisted into a slight smile.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned- I mean, I know- I-”

“Dean, it’s okay,” he said. Dean trailed off, searched Sam’s face and finally smiled.

“Lets just go to school,” he said. Sam made to reach for him but he was already moving. He relented with a sigh.

“Alright,” he said. “Just try not to get into trouble, okay?” Dean glanced back at him and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I- I’ll try.” Sam smiled at him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay.”

XX

“Dean, why?” San asked, staring in frustration at Dean as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the wall. “I told you not to get into trouble. You promised you wouldn’t fight anyone.” Dean did not speak. “Tell me, Dean.”

At the tone Dean looked up, anger in his eyes.

“He was picking on me,” he exclaimed. “He said I was trash, that you were trash. That we were poor and stupid.” Sam’s expression did not change. “I couldn’t let him say that!”

“So you broke his nose.”

“And his arm,” Dean said, holding his head high. “He won’t be talking shit about us again.” Sam exhaled an exasperated sigh and Dean shrank into himself slightly.

“You said it yourself- we’ll be gone in a week. It’s not worth getting into trouble over some kid making stupid comments.”

“He said you were stupid!” Dean protested. “You aren’t stupid!” Sam smiled slightly for a moment before evening his lips out. He could not let Dean think he was off the hook, even if his defense was heartwarming. He crouched before him.

“If we draw notice to ourselves, we could be in trouble,” he said. Dean scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. “You can’t fight, Dean. We can’t afford to draw attention.”

“Or Dad will have to come and get us,” he said. “I know.”

“Then why do you keep fighting?” Sam asked. Dean did not reply. “Dean?” He looked up, met Sam’s eyes, and Sam saw the answer in them. “Dean, Dad loves us.”

“Then why is he never here?” Dean asked. “He just drops us off and leaves and we don’t see him for weeks.” Sam sat beside him on the bed.

“He’s hunting, Dean. He’s saving people. Innocent people who don’t deserve to die.”

“I know,” he said. “I just…” his voice trailed off.

“Just what?” Sam asked as he went to his bed. Dean did not look at him as he replied.

“I wish he was here.” Sam bit his lip.

“Me too, Dean,” he said. “I do too.”


	6. Chapter 6

He was used to been pinned to the wall by demons; that didn’t mean he ever stopped fighting when he was. It seemed different, more urgent now he was facing the yellow eyed demon, now it was the demon that had ruined his life and killed his family that was examining him.

“That’s an interesting story, Dean,” he said. “From the future, are you?” Dean spat at him, bared his teeth. The demon chuckled. “I’d say you were crazy, but I believe you. Wait…” he pursed his lips thoughtfully and leaned close to him. “Does that mean you’re one of my kids? My psychic kids?” He sniffed his ear and Dean fought to pull away. The demon’s eyes gleamed as he grinned and pulled away.

“Oh, you are,” he said, patting his shoulder. “I don’t know how you got back here, but when you’re six months old I’m going to bleed into your pretty little mouth.” He stepped back.

“Demon’s blood is better than any mother’s milk, you know. How does it feel running through your veins? Good? What can you do?”

“I’m going to kill you,” he snarled. The demon chuckled. “I’m going to rip you limb from limb.” The demon raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t got your gun,” he pointed out. “Hell, you can’t even move, can you?” Dean snarled again, struggling ineffectually. “Well, Dean, we shall meet again. You will be very useful.”

“What did you do it for?” he asked. “Why?” The demon tutted at him.

“Dean, Dean,” he scolded. “I won’t tell you that with an angel looking over your shoulder. I like to keep my cards to my chest. Lets just say that you will be very useful indeed.” He leaned close to him for a moment. “Mmm, you smell so good,” he said. Dean spat on him. He wiped it off his cheek. “I will look\ forward to using you. Such spirit.”

With a wink he strolled out and Dean leapt to his feet as soon as he was able, but already the demon was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

“That angel, Castiel- he pulled you from Hell,” Dean said, quietly. Sam stiffened at his laptop.

“Don’t remind me,” he said. Dean didn’t seem to have heard him, staring at the sheet of the bed.

“Why is he so interested in me then?” Sam turned, frowned.

“What?”

“He’s visited me. He sent me back in time. He rescued you, not me- so why is he so interested in me?” Sam slowly shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you mean he’s visited you? He hasn’t visited me.” Dean didn’t speak, fiddling with his jeans.

“He comes to me at night sometimes,” he said. “He says that it’s important that I don’t-” he shook his head. “That I’m important.”

“Maybe he pulled me from Hell to save you then,” Sam said, bitterness coating his tone. Dean looked up sharply.

“I don’t need you to save me,” he snapped. “I can take care of myself, Sam!”

“You always say that,” Sam returned, turning back to his computer. “And you still use that power of yours- still let Ruby teach you.” Dean froze. “I know, Dean. It’s pretty obvious.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean hissed. “You have no idea what it’s like, to have demon blood running through your veins.”

“No,” Sam said, snapping his laptop closed and turning to face him. “I don’t. And I don’t want to. You shouldn’t be using your powers.”

“Then what should I do with them?” Dean exploded. “Sit and do nothing? I can make a difference! I can help prevent the apocalypse!”

“And I can’t?”

“Do you even know where the seals are? What the stages are? Ruby is helping me to find them, and I know she’s a demon- I don’t trust her, but what else am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do, Sam?” They froze for a long second, staring at each other, and Sam turned back to his laptop.

“We’ve always done fine,” he finally said. “Just stick to doing things the way we always do. We’ll get through this.” Dean stared at the floor.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He looked up at Sam and nodded. “Alright.”

Sam opened his laptop and started clicking through his research.

“Sam…” Dean’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, not looking around. Dean was silent for a long moment.

“We’ll be alright,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to reassure himself. “We will.” Sam nodded, hand stilling on the mouse.

“Yeah,” he said. “We will.”


	8. Chapter 8

He tried.

He closed his eyes and reached out his hand and concentrated and closed into a fist and tried to physically pull the demon from the man. He tried so hard. But it didn’t work.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He looked at Ruby as the demon started laughing and she threw a knife through the vessel’s heart. His laughter stuttered to a stop and Dean’s jaw set. He would not allow a demon to roam free. If he couldn’t take it out the man he had no problems ganking it like normal.

He’d killed enough people one more would hardly make a difference.

“I can’t do it,” he told her flatly. She licked her lips, looked at him consideringly.

“You can be stronger,” she said. “There’s a way.” He turned sharply to her.

“How?” he demanded and she chuckled.

“It’s the demon blood giving you power,” she said. “What little you have gives you little power. More…” he recoiled.

“You’re not suggesting-” he said.

“Yes I am,” she said. “Think about it, Dean. The more blood the more power.” She met his eyes. He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I won’t do that.” She shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” He opened his mouth to defend his pride but shut it. She was a demon, she was lucky he didn’t kill her with her own damn knife. He would if he didn’t need her, in a heartbeat.

“But if you ever want more power, you just need to call me.” She left the hotel and he slammed the door behind her.

“Never,” he said. “I will never do that.” He threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes, tried not to think about what Sam was suffering now on his account, what he’d think about what he was doing. He thought about Hell a lot these days.

He thought how very close to a demon he was. He had the blood in his veins, he was using it. He hated himself in that blood in his veins, he was using it. He hated himself in that moment, vowed never to call Ruby again, never to use it again.

He would not be one of the monsters he had always hunted.

XX

"Hello, Dean,” Ruby said brightly. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. “Change your mind, did you?”

“I want to try again,” he said. “Not with- I won’t do that. There has to be another way. I want to try again.” She cocked her head at him, evaluating him. She pursed her lips.

“We can try again,” she said. “But you won’t be able to do it until you get this, you know. We can try as many times as you like until you’re willing to drink my blood but you’re going to fail, and you know it.”

“I will never do that,” he said flatly. “Never.” Ruby patted his arm consolingly and he jerked it away. She raised her hands in surrender.

“Alright then. Lets find you a demon to fail on.” He glared at her.

“I can do it,” he said.

“Of course you can,” she said.

He had the distinct feeling she was laughing at him.

XX

He tried again and again, but he just could not do it. He paced for days in his motel room, thought about Sam and Bobby and his dad and everything he’d tried to live up to, to be.

Everything he’d failed at being. He thought about everything, but he finally just knew there was only one thing he could do.

He called Ruby.

“Alright,” he said, and hung up.

“You didn’t make it easy to find you,” she said when she arrived. “You really ought to have left an address.” He looked up at her and swallowed down the revulsion he felt at what he was about to do.

“Lets just do this,” he said. She took the knife from her belt.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Yes I’m sure,” he snapped. “Now come on.” She moved close, held her hands up, placating.

“Alright then,” she said. “You’re doing the right thing, Dean.” Sam’s words echoed over him then. _“Dad said I might have_ to kill you.”

If he would have to kill him over anything, it would be this. He closed his eyes for a second.

He needed this power.

“Lets just do this,” he said. “Come on!” She held the knife to her wrist, procured a small cup.

“Alright,” she said. “I assume you’ll find it easier this way.” He averted his eyes as she cut, dripped it into the cup and only looked up when she put it in his hand. He stared at the blood and felt sick. What was he doing?

“Dean,” she said. “You need to be strong.” He swallowed.

“I know,” he said. She stepped back.

“I’ll leave if you want. Wait outside.” He met her eyes, raised the cup to his lips and downed it. It tingled as it went down. It didn’t taste good either. But after a few minutes he felt strong, stronger than ever. Power flared to life, tingled in his fingertips. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Lets do this,” he said, and Ruby smiled broadly.


	9. Chapter 9

“Sam!” Dean called as he peered through the crack in the panic room, the eyehole Bobby had left (barred, of course). “Sam, is this really needed?” Sam’s infinitely sad eyes met his, and he could just picture the tightness of his jaw. Guilt swam through him. He’d never wanted Sam to worry about him. All he’d wanted to do was prove he could look after himself.

He’d failed.

“Yes,” Sam said, heavily. “It is.” Then he shut the grate. Dean paced about the room. He examined the wards, the traps, vaguely amazed that they weren’t catching him. All the blood he’d ingested, surely they’d be picking up on him. He sat heavily on the bed and tried to forget the look on Sam’s face when he’d found out, when he saw him covered in blood, licking his lips. Tried to forget the shock and disgust on his face.

Tried to forget his judging eyes whenever he left their motel, his wariness, as if he was so sure he was going to gank a demon just for their blood.

That he was made it worse, made it impossible for him to meet his eyes. He stared at Sam’s navel when he said he was going out, he’d be back later, he had his phone if he needed him.

If Sam called he knew he was just as likely to ignore it.

He dropped his head in his hands and tried to forget Dad’s words, Dad’s face. Dad would have killed him for this, and he’d always tried so hard to make him proud. But he was always lacking, always wrong- always broken.

Now he knew why.

He craved the blood, the power. He craved the strength it gave him, the strength to push a demon from a man. He craved the power, and he hated himself for craving it.

XX

It wasn’t long before he started to get dizzy and had to sit down and hold his head. He thirsted for blood, needed it, grasping blindly for nothing. His breath came fast and then he could not breathe, his head ached with the worst headache he’d ever suffered. He threw his head back and stretched fully to try to relieve the burn in his veins, he curled and rocked in a corner as he keened, high and needy.

It did not take long before he was screaming for Sam.

“Sam!” he called. “Sam, please, stop this! Sam!”

Sam never came and fury filled him. Sam had always promised to protect him and here he was abandoning him. He tried to remind himself that he was doing this for his own good but it was hard to recall when he was burning with need.

When Dad appeared before him he knew he was seeing things.

That didn’t make his words cut any less.

“Why did I raise you?” he asked and he flinched from him. “Why didn’t you die with your mother? Mary died because of you, you monster. And look at you- you are so desperate for blood. Didn’t the blood that had your mother killed satisfy you?”

He curled in the corner, his hands over his ears, shouting desperately for Sam, but it was useless, he could hear every word clear as a bell.

“I wish you died in that nursery,” Dad said and his tears streamed down his cheek. He protested, screamed, flinched away, bowed his head and pleaded with him to stop. But he never did.

He kept talking and talking and talking and he would not stop.

XX

Sam paced restlessly in the kitchen. He closed his eyes and slammed his fists against the walls and rested his forehead against it, tears gathering in his eyes, Dean’s screams and pleas ringing in his ears.

“You can’t go down there,” Bobby said. “This is for his own good.” He spun sharply around.

“Don’t you hear him?” he asked. “He needs-”

“He needs to detox,” Bobby said. “This is what he needs, as harsh as it is.”

A particularly loud scream echoed through the kitchen.

“Sam, please!” Dean pleaded, abject desperation in his voice. “ _Please!_ ” Sam spun around and went outside.

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked.

“Out,” Sam ground out. “I can’t stand this.” He slammed the door shut and went to the car, sat behind the wheel. He could not leave his brother- he would not- but he felt so helpless. He bent his head and swallowed his tears.

He needed to be strong for Dean.

XX

“I wish you’d died instead of me,” Mary whispered as she stroked his cheek in an obscene parody of love. “You don’t deserve to live; you know that, don’t you?” He was curled by the wall, into her side, sobbing.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “I’m trying, please, don’t say that, Mum, please-” she ignored him, kissed his forehead.

“Honey, I say this because I love you,” she said. “You need to know the truth. You don’t deserve to live- you’ve done so much. You squandered your brother’s love, your father’s love.”

He wept harder.

“You are a monster,” she said, and he screamed. When he opened his eyes she was gone, but her words rang in his head, over and over and over.

XX

“This isn’t working,” Bobby said. Sam looked up at him.

“The blood is killing him,” he said. “What else can we do?”

Bobby was silent for a long while. “Bobby?”

“It’s not killing him,” he said finally. “We are.” He held his hand up to silence Sam. “This cold turkey thing isn’t

working.”

“I will not get him demon blood,” Sam snapped. “I refuse to.” Bobby was silent. “Bobby, I won’t. He’s my brother.” Bobby bit his lip and said nothing.

XX

Sam came at him as if he were a monster, and he was too exhausted to protest. He threw holy water and he _burned_ , scrabbling at his cheek and howling in agony. His back arched as the pain filled him as Sam threw salt at him, pinpricks of pain the pain filled him as Sam threw salt at him, pinpricks of pain that added into a raging inferno. He could not get out of the devil’s trap, pulsing hopelessly at the edge.

And then, it was over and the door was open. He stared in shock outside and cautiously made his way out, head aching, spinning, grasping at the walls for support.

“Sam?” he asked. “Sam?!”

Sam did not reply. There was no one there. But he knew what he needed. He needed it like nothing else. He fumbled for a phone and dialled the number he knew better than his own.

“Ruby,” he rasped and she sounded concerned.

“Dean?” she asked. He fell back against the wall and panted harshly.

“Ruby, I need…” tears filled his eyes and he choked out a sob. “Ruby, please.” Ruby made soothing noises at the other end of the line.

“Alright, Dean,” she said. “Get to a motel, I’ll meet you there.” She hung up before he could thank her. He lurched to a car and struggled to hotwire it, hands shaking badly. When he finally had it he set off down the road.

XX

She knocked on the door once and opened it. He lurched over to her, grabbed her and slammed it shut.

“You look awful, Dean,” she said. He glared at her through bloodshot eyes as he slammed her on the bed, fumbling for the knife on her thigh. Her eyes gleamed as he grabbed it and spread her arm out, cutting her roughly and fastening his mouth over the cut, sucking the blood from her as if it were mother’s milk, only getting hungrier the more he drank.


	10. Chapter 10

Gabriel laughed in the middle of the circle of flame, appearing at ease. He would have been lounging if he’d been able, Dean swore.

“It’s almost a pity,” he said. “That you’re not the big brother, Dean. It would have been perfect then. The big brother who worships the absent father, the little brother who rebels. Oh well, I suppose role reversal is good too. Who says Michael can’t be younger, hmm?” He laughed.

Sam shook his head.

“I will not be Lucifer’s vessel,” he said. “I won’t.”

“It’s fate. Haven’t I taught you to play your roles yet? I can try again-”

“I won’t let myself be some meat puppet,” Dean interjected, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you angels are all dicks anyway.” He glanced at Cas. “No offence,” he added. Gabriel laughed again.

“Oh, but you will. You have to. It’s your fate.”

“Nope,” Dean said and turned to walk to the door. “Ain’t going to happen.”

“Isn’t it funny,” Gabriel said, “That Michael’s vessel is a monster.” Dean froze, his hands clenched into fists and Sam grabbed his shoulder as he turned.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“The demon blood, Lilith- this is all your fault, Dean,” he crowed. “And if you don’t fix it, if you don’t accept Michael then the world’s end will fall squarely on your shoulders.”

Sam physically dragged him to the door, Cas gripping his other arm.

“You’re not going to leave me here forever are you?” Gabriel asked, mockingly grinning. Sam slammed the fire extinguisher on.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean was flipping channels, slouching on the couch, not pausing to watch one thing before he changed it. Sam watched him, biting his lip, indecision in his eyes. He passed his hand over the knife at his hip and swallowed before moving forward.

“Dean,” he called, and Dean looked up, bored.

“Yeah?” he asked, vaguely. Sam sat beside him.

“Dean, look at me,” he said, watched his little brother’s focus sharpen until he felt he had his full attention. “You with me, Dean?” Dean grabbed for his knife.

“What is it?” he asked. Sam raised a hand.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said and paused, chewing his lip and glancing down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes for a moment. “Look, Dean, just…” he sucked in a breath. “Just stay here, alright? Do not leave this room, not for anything.”

Dean’s eyes were wide.

“Sam?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” Sam shook his head, felt familiar hatred burning through him. He was abandoning his family- the brother he’d always protected. He shook it away.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just promise me you’ll stay here. And keep the salt on the window, check it every night.” Dean moved closer, eyes wide and concerned.

“Sam, are you going somewhere?” he asked. Sam looked away.

“There’s something I have to do,” he said after a moment. “You have your knife?” Dean held his hand up.

“There’s salt in the corner,” he said. “I’ll be safe.” He cocked his head. “When will you be back?” Sam just shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Just keep your knife close and be safe.” Dean nodded.

“I will,” he said. Sam rose, headed to the door, hesitated, guilt and hatred threatening to overwhelm him. What was he doing? He was abandoning his little brother. Dad. The thought of Dad strengthened his resolve and he opened the door. He made the mistake of looking at Dean before he shut it.

His little brother was watching him, his knife held between his fingers.

He shut the door and started off down the road.

XX

John opened the door and sat on a bed, head in his hands, exhausted. He reached for a beer and opened it, taking a long swig. He felt Dean approach him, lay his small hands on his knee.

“Dad, are you alright?” he asked, Mary’s eyes looking at him so concerned. He closed his eyes for a moment and ruffled Dean’s hair.

“I’m fine,” he said, swallowing the beer, feeling it burn down his throat, burn away the memories. He finally looked around. It was as he’d left it, except.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked and saw as Dean looked down, bit his lip. “Dean?” he asked. Dean looked up again. “He’ll be back,” he said, sounding just a little unsure. “There’s just something he has to do, and he’ll be back.” John rose and Dean grabbed his hand. He shook him off, felt him fall back, eyes wide.

“Dad?”

“You stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

And ignoring Dean’s questions, he left.

XX

Dad returned without Sam. Dean anxiously watched him close the door, felt his heart thump in his chest.

“Dad?” he asked. John sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. Dean curled up to him. It wasn’t often Dad let him cuddle him. He was so sleepy. Everything would be fine now- Dad was back, Sam would come back. He let the worry of the last two days fall from him as he gripped Dad’s shirt between his fingers, felt his eyes sliding shut.

“Everything will be alright,” he heard Dad say and smiled.

Dad would figure everything out.

XX

He woke to shouting and didn’t open his eyes, kept them tight shut, tried to block it out.

“I told you to take care of him!” Dad shouted, and he heard the slapping of flesh against flesh. He cringed and heard Sam grunt. “I told you to take care of him and you ran away!” He felt tears building behind his eyes and buried his face in the pillow, shaking. Sam hadn’t run away; Sam had something he needed to do. He was back. That was all that mattered.

“Stupid boy!” Dad shouted and the door opened and slammed shut. Dean didn’t stop trembling until Sam came over, touched his back, and he launched himself into his arms, buried his face in his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam murmured as he sobbed into Sam’s shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean gripped him tighter.

XX

Dean woke to find himself alone and closed his eyes. Sam’s bed was neatly made and there was no note, but the absence of his gun was a note in and of itself, when he checked under the pillow. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

Really, he should have expected this.

He checked the salt line on the window and in front of the door was intact before sitting on the couch and flipping through the TV listlessly, uncaring. He settled on the news and didn’t really watch it, just waited and waited for Sam to come back.

He always did, eventually.

He wondered why Sam kept leaving, and knew it was because of him. It had to be because of him. He felt tears burning behind his eyes but did not cry.

XX

When Dad left he pinned Sam with a long, wary, warning look and Dean saw Sam straighten and cringe at the same time. He tried not to hope that Sam would stay this time.

Two days later Sam was gone and he was alone.

XX

“Sam, what am I doing wrong?” Dean asked when he found him staring out the window in a way that he now knew meant he was going to leave again. Sam turned to him, frowned.

“What?” he asked, unable to quite meet his eyes.

“You keep running away from me,” Dean said, whispered, really, his eyes falling to the floor, shoulders hunched. “I’ll do better, I swear- just tell me how.” Sam moved close and he flinched away. Sam dropped his hands with a long sigh.

“I’m not running away from you,” he said. “I swear it.” Dean looked up, disbelieving, and watched Sam’s jaw tighten, his eyes darken. He found himself tensing.

“Then why do you keep running?” he asked finally, barely audibly. Sam knelt before him, took his hands.

“Dean,” he said, “Look at me.” He did, but looked away as soon as he did, his eyes falling to the ground again. “I’m not running from you. It’s just…” Sam hesitated.

“Don’t you feel like something’s wrong?” he asked finally. “Like there’s more to life than this? Like we should be doing something else, not staying in motel rooms and waiting for Dad to come back so we can go to another?” Dean’s eyes widened.

“But Dad saves people,” he said. “We will too, when we’re old enough. We have to wait until then. Then we can go with Dad.” Sam felt a pale chuckle trying to escape, but it didn’t try very hard.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “I mean- don’t you want to be normal?” Dean didn’t reply for a very long moment, swallowing, and finally he spoke.

“But Dad said…” Sam felt anger whip through him, sharp and hard, and his voice had sharpened when he spoke, harshly.

“Forget what Dad said,” he snapped, and Dean recoiled. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just… when you’re at school, do you ever wish to be like the others? To be able to have a home, a life?” Dean pulled his hands out of Sam’s.

“We have a life,” he said. “We’ll save people. What could be better than that?” Sam felt his shoulders slump, felt Dean touch his shoulder.

“Sam, please don’t go,” he pleaded softly. “It’s going to be alright- you’ll see.” There was something else in his eyes, fear, mistrust, uncertainty.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” he asked, and Dean twisted his hands before him, not meeting his eyes. “Dean, tell me.”

“It’s just that, when you’re gone…” he swallowed. “I…” he said no more and Sam couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

“You can protect yourself,” he said, gently. “You don’t need to be afraid.” Dean’s head snapped up, pride burning in his eyes.

“I’m not,” he said, fiercely. Sam chuckled slightly. His fierceness wilted slightly. “…Will you stay?” he asked. Sam bit his lip and finally nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll stay.” He lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

But Dean did worry, and Sam stared out the window, unable to reconcile this life with what he felt he had waiting for him reconcile this life with what he felt he had waiting for him outside.


End file.
